


Directionless

by Dessert_Maniac



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Gen, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 18:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2517125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dessert_Maniac/pseuds/Dessert_Maniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One can lack meaning, or direction, or even both. Homura needs direction and professional help.</p><p>[Something akin to a controlling relationship.] [Post-Rebellion.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Directionless

**Author's Note:**

> "Not Gonna Get Us" by t.A.T.u, a remix like [Dubstep][Liquid Stranger Remix] or (Brainless Remix).

### Directionless

Could a person develop tolerance to magic?

She should be wherever Madoka happened to be ( _‘Still sleeping at home_ ,’ it whispered in her ear), but the latest suppression of memories had been only a few hours ago. She had had to smother Madoka more than usual—that will of hers had been resurfacing alarmingly often, hence the question.

 _‘Mistress a failure,’_ one of the dolls grumbled.

Blue-violet eyes glanced around the hallway, searching for them though it and its companions somehow remained out of her scathing sight.

Her footsteps echoed off the blank walls. She had not bothered with most of the school; only certain hallways existed in vivid detail. She did not remember well the exact appearance of the school, so large windows made up the rest of the building instead of proper walls.

Not that her denizens cared or even noticed.

Still, she could not seem to keep away from the school. Something about the achingly empty building lured her in. Empty hallways, empty classrooms, an empty school met her resentment.

A fist slammed into a locker. The bruise on her knuckles vanished at a brief thought. She pivoted on her heel as tired, itchy eyes took the galling emptiness. Mocking titters echoed in her ears.

The world turned on its axis, its inhabitants going about their lives, and only Homura knew what it had taken to come to this point.

 _‘Mistress useless,’_ came another discontented jab.

Snarling, she strode towards the main entrance, the doors banging and bouncing off the wall with her excessive force. She spread her hands out, palms upward, and yanked invisible strings towards her.

Dusk turned into morning as the inhabitants of her universe abruptly began a new day.

Lips pressed into an ever-present smirk, she watched the first students and teachers trudge past the school gates only a few minutes later. A peculiar sluggishness stilted their movements.

The only time she had spared curiosity for those early birds had been in the second timeline. Her stupid naïveté had had her wondering what _their_ story was. Now, however—

 _You are little more than my puppets_. They existed and that was that.

Eight o' clock pinged somewhere in her mind. Madoka, then, should be finishing breakfast. In a few minutes, no more than six, she would meet Sakura Kyouko and Miki Sayaka by the creek; a given. Punctuality otherwise meant little to the other two, so they would dawdle there until Shizuki Hitomi passed by with Kamijou Kyousuke and reprimanded them.

Today, that would not do.

She strolled into class at precisely 8:15, fifteen minutes before the first bell. As soon as she sat down, she timed _her_ arrival to 8:20. She did not care _how_ it would happen, just so long as it _happened_.

‘ _Bad mistress, bad mistress bad, mistress bad_ ,’ the dolls chanted.

Slumped in the back left corner, she glared dully at nothing, gaze slipping over empty and occupied desks. One leg crossed carelessly over the other as she propped her head up on her left arm, she strove to exude nothing but pure disdain.

Wine-red eyes met hers without warning. The designated time simultaneously pinged in her mind.

Positively livid, she snapped her gaze to the left. Miki Sayaka and Sakura Kyouko should have preceded Madoka—

She knew their exact movements, behaviors. _First_ would enter Sakura Kyouko, taunting Miki Sayaka, who followed with her arms extended as they entertained themselves with their latest squabble. _Then_ , Madoka would follow, a tremulous smile and laugh her only input. They would sit in their respective seats, with Madoka in the fourth row, fourth column from the door—no matter the timeline, that seat remained hers.

Instead, Madoka entered first and, despite pain lurking in the shadows of her face, her smile showed more vigor than it had the past month here.

 _Could_ a person develop tolerance to magic? That would not do, not at _all_.

A part of her still balked at the thought of _hurting Madoka_ , but desperate measures had saved her once.

Though, perhaps she could take a leaf from _their_ book and keep Madoka in stasis. That would cut down on the monitoring she had to do.

_My very own sleeping beauty. A fairy tale exists along those lines, yes?_

_‘Yes_ ,’ it replied. Madoka loved fairy tales. Well, then, she could dream of them to her heart’s content so long as she remained asleep. She would not have to face the cruel reality. Those expressive ruby eyes would forever remain closed…

Or perhaps not, she mused as sensei strolled into class with a relationship-related complaint already on her lips.

Up ahead, Madoka glanced up at a smirking Sayaka.

Had Madoka sometimes looked at her instead of her friends, instead of sensei, instead of the board? Back in their first world, she had often imagined a certain pair of eyes observing her curiously. But they never had, for Homura then had been too pathetic to be worthy of notice.

Now—now she could demand all the attention she wanted. Madoka lived under _her control_. For once, she could tell Madoka exactly what to do and not do.

 _‘Mistress forgets_ ,’ a doll whispered. Eyes narrowing, she ducked just in time to avoid being hit with a ripe tomato. No one else reacted to the random assault, though a smear of red tainted the glass window next to her.

‘ _Red like the blood on your hands_ ,’ its hiss accused her.

No, not at all like the blood on her hands. The one was an orange-red, the other a bright-red that soon morphed into a disgusting black-red. What fool would mistake the two colors? Certainly no one who had seen enough blood to last a lifetime.

The lunch bell rang.

Bedraggled teachers dismissed their students. Curious how certain people seemed more susceptible to her magic than others.

 _Curious and **concerning**_ , because Madoka led the way to the rooftops instead of the blue and red duo. Did she not understand that every line had already been scripted, every action preordained? All she had to do was follow along. Things were better this way; surely if she knew she would accept it as the only solution.

Granted, Madoka _never_ saw things her way. Never _listened_ , never _cared_ , never _understood_.

It drove her insane—all the things she said, all those timelines, they echoed in her head in a cacophony of pleas, orders, self-sacrificing nobility, disgusting altruism, and _oh_ those subtle undertones of selfishness that apparently only Homura could hear.

Dearest, _dearest Madoka_. She who would stand rigidly in her arms as the transfer student wept, she who would promise to never forget, and she who would sacrifice herself for the world but not for Homura.

Another bell rang, signaling the end of lunch too early. Crossing lines made for such beautiful confusion, such beautiful bewilderment…

Voices approached, students filtered in, and everyone ignored the sheer _wrongness_ of it all.

 _I don’t know if I can see this through_.

_‘You would forsake her?’_

But eternity, endless repetition, conflicting emotions—and Madoka already showing signs of restoration no matter how many times Homura forcibly restrained her.

 _I don’t know how long I can keep her_.

 _‘Endless sleep_ ,’ it brought up her previous consideration.

Flickering, fluctuating control…

 _Just you and me, directionless_.

She ended the day as abruptly as she had begun it. Everyone went to bed and dreamt of lost souls in a lost world. She sat atop a lone hill and waltzed under a half-eaten moon.

Caught in another cycle, in another endless circle—she just could not keep well enough alone, could she?

_/\  
_

**Author's Note:**

> Just another short thing I shelved about a month ago. I finally figured out what to do with it, so here we are.
> 
> Lately my stuff has been influenced by music, lol.


End file.
